Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
And then there is Christina and Michael, who we haven’t seen since the party, and I seriously doubt we will. How? How can I face either of them again?
I often think Louisa is right; I should move away and start over. Sometimes it seems as if it’s the only option. Go and hide. Hide from everyone.
“We’ll get your passport soon,” Christopher says as he brings the last of his bags down the stairs. “I really wish you could go to London with me. But I’m swooping in and swooping out as soon as I’m done with the shoot. I didn’t even book a hotel.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say. “You can stay. I’ll be fine.”
“We’ll go back there together and travel the entire area once we get the passport. I promise.” He gives his bags a onceover to make sure he has all he needs. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He presses his forehead to mine, our lips so close. “Are you sure you’re all right with me going?”
I pat his chest and smile. “Yes. Go take wonderful pictures, and don’t worry about me.”
I glance up the stairs and see Louisa looking down on us. Her face is solemn and eyes dark.
Christopher reaches for the back of my head and pulls me into a kiss. A tingle runs up my spine from the intensity, and I wish we didn’t have an audience, or I’d let my hands explore as we kiss goodbye.
“I love you, Ember,” he whispers as he breaks the kiss. “Don’t ever forget that.”
“Goodbye, Christopher. I love you.”
He picks up his bags and leaves the house to meet the driver waiting on the stoop.
I don’t wait to see him drive away but decide to head to my room instead. I don’t want to be around Louisa and her judging eyes. I definitely don’t want to speak with her unless I have to. I hope she doesn’t take this opportunity to have any more of her heart-to-heart talks with me.
No thank you. Hard pass.
No need to keep pretending. We both don’t care for each other, and there is no point in continuing the façade. I hate lies, and I don’t want to keep one up if I don’t have to. And I no longer have to. I’m at peace with how the woman feels about me. I’m at peace.
I enter the room and freeze.
The skin on the back of my neck prickles. A whoosh of eerie silence surrounds me as I close my bedroom door.
Straw.
A lot of straw.
In the middle of the room is a cross made from nothing but straw. A Godly and haunting greeting from my past. There is no mistake. There is no way this is coincidence. And there is no way this is in my head.
I can run. I can scream. I can spin on my heels, lock myself in my room, and call the police.
I have so many options.
But truly, deep down, I know there is only one choice. I have to face my insanity head-on.
I notice a familiar object on the desk as well. An old hardback book of The Secret Garden.
I lift the book from the table and feel the weight in my hands. It’s a story that has followed me here—from the schoolhouse.
I read the book over and over again growing up. So much so that the pages were worn thin in places and even tearing. So much so that I had to tape the book together in some places.
I flip through the book from the desk and stop on page 49. Page 49, which is held together with scotch tape. Just like I had taped page 49 of my book back in Hallelujah Junction.
It’s the same book.
“Do you like the book?” I hear Louisa ask from behind me. I hadn’t noticed her entering the room, but my nearing nervous breakdown can be blamed for that.
I turn to face her and run my finger over the tape. “This is mine from the schoolhouse.” I look up at her, already fearing the answer to my question before I ask, “How did you get this?”
I had been trying to get out of the storm since leaving the only home I knew. Walking through the dark, I hoped so badly that I’d find the light. But as I stare at the woman before me and face the raging hurricane around me, I know there’s no hope on weathering the storm.
“The straw,” I say, pointing at the cross, seeing the truth for the first time. “You’ve always been the one behind the straw, right?”
She says nothing but simply smiles.
“Why? Did you want me to lose my mind? Did you want to scare me to the point of insanity? This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?”
Her smile doesn’t waver.
“Are Papa Rich and Scarecrow here? Do you know where they are?”